


Bismillah

by soundingsea



Series: Minneapolis Slayer [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Character of Color, Chromatic Character, Community: eid_fic, Community: eid_ka_chand, Female Protagonist, Gen, Muslim Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-12
Updated: 2010-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 00:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingsea/pseuds/soundingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like how TV detectives run in high heels, Faduma fights the forces of darkness wearing flip-flops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bismillah

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks: to spiralleds for beta-reading and pointing out the places it didn't make sense; any remaining errors are my own. Thanks also to dhobikikutti for running this challenge. Spoilers: through "Chosen" (no comics canon).

This last week of Ramadan, the heat wave has finally broken. Minneapolis has gone from 90-degree days to highs in the low 70s, and sweat no longer beads under Faduma's hijab. Instead, wisps of clouds race across the sky and occasional gusts make her glad for the jeans under her skirt.

Despite the wind, no iconic plastic bag blows around this parking lot. Seward Co-op only offers paper, with a cheery sign outside the front door reminding members to bring their reusable bags.

Faduma's not the only muslimah shopping for tonight's iftar; she waves to Haweya, who's kinda her cousin. They're from the same qabiil, anyhow, according to the endless discussions which are the favorite pastime of the generation who remembers the home country. Haweya's using her hijab as a hands-free kit, talking on a phone wedged between headscarf and ear as she sorts through the nectarines. Faduma catches a rapid-fire exchange in Somali about the merits of buying one's goat meat at the halal butcher on Lake Street versus heading to the one up on Central Avenue.

No big family iftar for Faduma tonight, alas; she made her excuses to her parents without actually lying; slaying is her job just as much as translating for office visits and followup documentation. Doesn't pay anywhere near as well and doesn't offer dental, though; she should really take that up with Wood next time he swings through town.

The obits (or Irish comics, as a co-worker of hers in the clinic's translation office calls them) suggest there will be vampires rising over at Hillside. Faduma selects some dates, then heads for the deli cooler to grab a bottle of iced tea, resolutely ignoring the tempting cheese samples. She bids Haweya nabad gelyo and checks out.

Sunset approaches, streaking orange across the clouds, and Faduma needs to get cleaned up for maghrib; the sunset prayer will mark the end of the day's fast as well as the start of her night's patrol. She performs wudhu with the aid of one of the ubiquitous public water fountains. (Clearly the secret Muslim in the government must be on the Minneapolis Park Board, not in the White House!) Ablutions complete and the sun down, she faces towards the river, towards Wisconsin, towards Mecca. Who needs a smartphone with a Quilba app when the Mississippi is an ever-present feature of the landscape?

When she's finished prostrating herself for prayer, Faduma smoothes the outer layer of her khimar over her headscarf, then slips into her shoes. Just like how TV detectives run in high heels, Faduma fights the forces of darkness wearing flip-flops. It must be one of her slayer superpowers. Hey, sandals that need buckling are a hassle if she's taking them off and putting them on five times a day. During Ramadan, when performing salaat even more frequently, she finds slip-on shoes to be a must.

She nibbles dates and drinks lemon-flavored iced tea, grateful for the surge of energy she feels; she's ready for battle, like that other Fatima, daughter of the Prophet (peace be upon him), all those years ago and half-way across the world. Faduma's even got the perfect new weapon; when they were remodeling her masjid, she saved some of old wooden lattice from between the men's prayer area and that set apart for women. Makes great stakes, and preserves a far more important barrier; she stands between the people and the things that go _grr_ in the night.

"Bismillah," Faduma says, and as an instrument of Allah, she takes up her stake.

**Author's Note:**

> For further reading, more on the meaning of the word [bismillah](http://wahiduddin.net/words/bismillah.htm).
> 
> [comments on LJ](http://soundingsea.livejournal.com/487705.html)


End file.
